Cutback
by Saturday
Summary: That was before the music days, of course. Before Spot met Farrell at a concert and fell hopelessly in love with her and forgot about everything. [swearing, slashing, red hot chili peppers, nirvana lyrics and whatnot]


**Author's Note:** Just for fun ... A little too much time on my hands + newsies slash taking over my brain = this fic. :-)

**Disclaimer: **I own Farrell Tyler and her band but that's about it.  The song lyrics belong to Nirvana (now THERE's a surprise --- it's not 'Smells Like Teen Spirit', though) and the Red Hot Chili Peppers and the newsies belong to Disney.

-----

His lyrics were usually angry and controversial, somewhat like his personality.  He was the lead singer for "the Ingrates", and he played the bass guitar.  His best friend Jack Kelly was the lead guitarist, and Skittery Goorjian played the drums.

He was dating Farrell Tyler, a girl I had hated from the moment I first saw her because of her absolute perfection.  She had long, glossy black hair and skin burned a smooth dark brown from the sun.  Her smile was a flawless imitation of Harrison Ford's lopsided grin, complemented by the baggy blue jeans and torn up t-shirts that she always wore.

She sang and played lead guitar for an alternative rock band called "Cutback", backed up by Whitney Redmond on the bass guitar, Shane Marie on the drums, and Jesse Davis on the keyboard.  And, as much as I hate to admit it, they were good.  Farrell's voice was perfect (just like everything else about her); comfortable but supported, as if she sang the way she spoke and the notes just came out right.  And she had a slight New York accent, making her all the sexier.

I would probably be a big fan of Cutback if Farrell and Spot hadn't been going out.  Dammit, I want that man.

Ah yes.  Then there's me, Racetrack Higgins.  Spot kissed me once.  It was raining and somehow we ended up with our mouths touching and the rain pouring down all over us.  He was slightly drunk at the time, but I am under the suspicion that sometimes when you're drunk you do things you're too scared to do when you're sober.

That was before the music days, of course.  Before Spot met Farrell at a concert and fell hopelessly in love with her and forgot about everything.

But I haven't forgotten.  I haven't forgotten what he said to me that night, and I certainly haven't forgotten about the time we goddamn kissed in the rain.

---

"You don't mind, do you?" said Spot gratefully as he handed me Jack's guitar.  "I mean ordinarily I would have forced Skittery to bring 'em in, but I can't find him at the moment."

"Nah, I should feel _honored_ to be bringing in the instruments from the infamous Ingrates, eh?" I said.

"Infamous Ingrates..." Spot smiled.  "I like it."

"You could probably write a song about it, eh?"

"Yeah, probably."  He pulled out his beloved bass guitar and swung the strap over his shoulder so that he could get Skittery's drums.  The pair of us headed through the backdoor of the stadium and put the instruments backstage.

"So are you nervous?" I asked him.  "I mean this _is_ your first big show."

"Hmm?  Nervous?  Me?  No, not at all!"

Heh, suuuuure Spot.  Man, that kid was always a bad liar.  We went back out to lock up the car just as Farrell, Whitney, Jesse, and Shane pulled up in their truck.  "Hey baby," said Farrell, hopping lightly out and kissing Spot quickly.  "Hi Racecar," she said to me.

I tried not to laugh.  _Racecar_?  Well I should be thankful she actually got that close this time; last time she greeted me she called me Ratrace.  Now that was weird.

You shouldn't be surprised to find out that the Ingrates and Cutback were doing the show together.  They did everything together.  Personally I think the Ingrates are a lot better than Farrell's band, but perhaps my opinion is slightly biased...

We all went back inside, carrying Cutback's instruments (unwillingly, on my part, but I don't think anyone noticed me rolling my eyes grumpily).  "Conlon!" called the manager, Mr. White, the instant we stepped inside.

"Eh?" said Spot unenthusiastically, groaning under the weight of Jesse's huge keyboard.

"Where is Goorjian?"

"Eh?"

"Michael Goorjian, your drummer!"

"Oh him..."

"Yes _him_, where is he???" Mr. White snapped.  "You're going to be on in twenty minutes and he is nowhere to be found!"

"Oh I'm sure he'll show up," said Farrell offhandedly, leaning her guitar against the wall.  "He always does."

"I'm sorry, Miss Tyler, but this isn't as easy as you think."  Mr. White wiped sweat from his forehead.  "We need to find Goorjian and get him ready to go on stage and set up!  If he doesn't show up soon I may have to cancel the performance and have Cutback go on first until we can find him."

I could have sworn Farrell almost smiled at the idea.  Or maybe I was just watching her too closely.

Spot, on the other hand, looked rather worried.  "Well where's Jack?" he asked.

"He's sitting on the speaker over there tuning his guitar and smoking a cigarette," said Mr. White crossly.  "I told him that there is no smoking in this stadium but he just stubbed his cigarette on my sweater and continued to tune his guitar!  Could you _please_ speak to him about it, I don't know what will be done with me if he is found with the cigarette..."

"Yeah yeah, I'm on it," Spot mumbled, running his fingers through his hair and going over to the lead guitarist to try and convince him to throw out the cigarette.

"So ya wanna help me get Shane's drums outta the truck or what?" said Farrell after a minute.

I tried to smile.  "Sure, why not?"

I guess I could have been surprised that she hadn't asked ... oh I don't know, maybe _Shane_ to help her carry the drum set in, but I had grown used to Farrell's personality.  Kind of split, y'know?  Sexy and brilliant on stage, friendly and cocky with Spot, and self-absorbed and bored with everyone else.

I helped her bring the drums in, nonetheless.  Whether I did it for Spot or because I am rather scared of Farrell Tyler remains to be seen.  

Spot finally managed to get Jack to stop smoking and, once he had finished tuning his guitar, to agree to help search for Skittery.  "Can you come, Farrell?" Spot asked her quickly as Jack went to check the downstairs bathroom.

"I have to tune my guitar."  She flashed him that beautiful half-smile and winked.  "Just in case you guys don't find 'im.  Wanna be ready in case we have to go onstage, y'know?"

"Yeah..." Spot didn't look too thrilled at the idea of her sitting around waiting to go onstage, but he shrugged it off and dashed downstairs after Jack.

I put my hands in my pockets and ambled down the hall, trying to get away from Cutback.  I didn't particularly want to spend time alone with Farrell, and the other girls had virtually no personalities.  Once Farrell got onstage, you kind of forgot they were there.

I turned the corner to see the janitor's closet open and Skittery curled up in the corner next to several cardboard boxes and a broom.  "Skitts?" I said softly.

He turned and looked at me.  "Hey Race."

"What the hell are you doing here, the guys are all looking for you!"

He shrugged.  "I --- I can't do this."

"What do you mean you can't do this?" I demanded.

"I'm not good in front of crowds!" said Skittery.  "I was in the school play in sixth grade and I puked all over the girl playing Cinderella ... I didn't even have a big part."

"Who were you?"

"The coachman.  My line was, 'Allow me to help you into the carriage, Miss' and I couldn't do it.  Instead, I hurled all over her pretty dress and ran offstage crying."

I resisted the urge to start laughing at the idea of Skittery puking on Cinderella.  "And this was in sixth grade?"

"Yeah."  He looked at me seriously.  "I can't do this.  Once I see the crowd I get all tense and I just lose the beat."

Aha!  Now it was time for my insane movie addiction to come into use!  "Here Skitts, get up," I said, offering him my hand.  "You have some sunglasses in your car, right?"

"I think so..." he said slowly, raising an eyebrow at me. 

"Wear them to the concert.  You won't be able to see the crowd that way and you'll look totally hot in them." [1]

Skittery laughed.  "Do you think it'll work?"

"It should ... It did in the movie I saw, anyway," I said.  "Now c'mon and help me find Spot before he bursts a blood vessel."

---

"Hello Pittsburgh!" Spot yelled through the microphone.  The crowd cheered in response, and he flashed that stunning smile of his.  "Thank you, really..." He cleared his throat and gestured at Jack and Skittery.  "Well we're all guys --- and, like most guys I know, none of us are exceptionally articulate or good at speaking on front of crowds..." The audience laughed.  "...so we're just gonna get started here."

"This first song never really had a name and its title is still unclear," said Jack slowly.  "Did we ever name it?" he asked Spot.

"I have no idea," said Spot.  The crowd laughed again.

"In any case," Jack continued, "we're still going to play it because it's a fun one."  He smiled.  "Alright --- y'know what, the fact that this song doesn't have a title is really bothering me.  I'm just gonna call it 'Verse Chorus Verse'."

"Wow, that's creative," said Spot sarcastically.  "Well here it is, ladies and gentlemen: Verse Chorus Verse."

Skittery put on his shades.  Jack started strumming the guitar.  Spot cleared his throat and stepped forward.  "_And if you save yourself, you will make him happy."_  The bass and drums started too.  "_He'll keep you in a jar and you'll think you're happy.  He'll give you breather holes and you'll think you're happy.  He'll cover you with grass and you'll think you're happy._"

Jack joined in with background vocals.  "_Now...You're in a laundry room.  You're in a laundry room.  The clues they came to you..."_

I was standing in the crowd, leaning against the wall.  I had helped write this song with Spot several years ago.  I was surprised he had decided to sing it, considering how old it was, but he seemed to like it.  I glanced at Farrell, who I could see from where I was standing.  The look on her face was unreadable.  She didn't look proud of Spot and how well he was doing; she was just blank.  Waiting to go on stage, maybe.

I looked back at Spot.  _"And if you cut yourself, you will think you're happy.  He'll keep you in a jar, and you'll make him happy.  He'll give you breather holes, and you'll think you're happy.  He'll cover you with grass and you'll think you're happy."_

Dammit, I want that man.  Did I already say that?  He's just so incredibly talented and brilliant and not to mention gorgeous ... and taken.  Heh.  Just my luck, eh?

Farrell was on the stage almost before the Ingrates had time to get off.  She pressed the microphone to her lips and whooped loudly, causing the crowd to cheer and stand up.  I was surprised she didn't say anything like 'Let's hear it for the Ingrates!' or something, considering her boyfriend had just sung four fabulous songs.  But then again, we are dealing with Farrell Tyler.

"Thank you for having us here!" she said once the crowd had quieted down.  "We're Cutback---" wild applause from the audience "---and we've been making music for about three years.  This is our first show, however, so don't be expecting anything too great."  She winked.  "Our first song _has_ a title."  The crowd sniggered appreciatively.  "It's called 'Can't Stop' and we wrote it about a year ago."

She swung her guitar strap over her shoulder and started to play.  It was a great rhythm, the kind that makes you want to jump up and down and yell.  Which is what the crowd did.

Finally she began to sing --- or more, talk.  It was rap but it didn't sound like it.

_"Can't stop, addicted to the shin dig_

_Cop Top he says I'm gonna win big_

_Choose not the life of imitation _

_Distant cousin to the reservation..."_

Whitney's background vocals started in.

"_Defunkt the pistol that you pay for_

_The punk the feeling that you stay for_

_In time I want to be your best friend_

_Eastside love is living on the westend..."_

Farrell started to sing.  _"The world I love, the tears I drop to be part of the wave can't stop ... Ever wonder if it's all for you?  The world I love, the trains I hop to be part of the wave can't stop ... Come and tell me when it's time to."_

I couldn't listen to this.  She was so ... _artificial_.  Beautiful, talented, and nothing like the way she was onstage.  I left the stadium and took the hallway backstage to talk to Spot.

The moment I entered the room where the Ingrates were hanging out, I was crushed in a hug from Skittery.  "THEY WORKED THEY WORKED THEY WORKED!!!" he yelled.

"What worked?" I managed to gasp.

"THE SHADES!  I WASN'T NERVOUS!  AT ALL!"

"Oh --- great."

"All right, geddoff him," Spot laughed, wrenching Skittery off me.  I smiled thankfully at him and started breathing again.

"You guys were fantastic!" I exclaimed.  "I've never heard you sing like that, Spot.  Seriously.  You were a big hit.  I heard this girl next to me ask her friend whether she thought Jack would sign her stomach in lipstick."

Jack laughed at this.  "Now that's the strangest thing I've ever heard."

Spot smiled and leaned against the wall, listening to Farrell sing from the stage.  _"Wait a minute, I'm passing out win or lose ... just like you.  Far more shocking than anything I ever knew ... how 'bout you?  Ten more reasons why I need somebody new ... just like you.  Far more shocking than anything I ever knew ... right on cue."_

He turned to me and smiled.  "She's great, ain't she?"

"What?"  I shrugged one shoulder.  "Do you mean as a person or as a performer?  Because she's great as a performer..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Spot, can I talk to you for a minute?  Alone?"

He raised an eyebrow at me.  "Uh ... Sure."  He allowed me to drag him out of the room and into the hallway where I took hold of both of his shoulders and pushed him up against the wall.  "There's no point beating around the bush.  I think Farrell's using you for publicity."

"_What??"_

"No wait, here me out," I said quickly.  "It probably sounds insane to you, but ... well, she's not as nice as she pretends to be.  You saw the way she ran onto stage before you guys could even get your instruments off."

"She was anxious to perform!"

"Or how she sat tuning her guitar and hoping that you guys wouldn't find Skittery so that she could go on," I pointed out.

"She was not sitting and hoping!" Spot snapped.  "She was preparing to go onstage!"

I groaned.  "I'm not gonna make you see this, am I?"  I shrugged again.  "Well --- maybe I'm the only one who sees it in the first place, anyway, just 'cause I want y---"

I stopped.  Spot looked at me, his clear blue eyes confused.

"Hey Spot..." I began again.  He tilted his head to the side to show that he was listening.  "Remember that night in the rain?"

He nodded slowly.

"Remember what you said to me?"

"Vaguely," he said.

"You told me that you loved me and that you could never love anyone else."

Spot's eyebrows shot up.  "Did I?"

"Yeah, you did."

Just then, Farrell came backstage with her guitar bouncing gently at her hip.  She smiled that perfect Harrison Ford smile at Spot and ran her fingers through her hair.  "How'd I sound?" she asked.

I took my hands of Spot's shoulders.  He looked at me, then at Farrell.  Then he looked back at me, a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth, and put his hands in his pockets.  "I still mean what I said that night, Racetrack Higgins," he said.

"What night?" said Farrell, irked.

"Are you shitting me?" I asked.

"I shit you not."  Then Spot smiled, leaned forward, and kissed me.

Man, I wish I coulda seen the look on Farrell's face at that moment.  I could probably write a song about it.

-----

**Author's Note:** My god, I think I actually liked that!  AAAH!  HALLELUJAH!  That has to be the first time THAT has ever happened to me.  Anyway, please leave a review!  I'll love you forever!

-Saturday


End file.
